


Going Slow

by verbaepulchellae



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:10:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaepulchellae/pseuds/verbaepulchellae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knows how to go slow, he just didn't expect Sherlock to need to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Slow

John knows how to go slow, enjoys the first steps of a relationship, the flirting and hand holding, walks in the park, side-long glances and blushes on girls’ pretty cheeks. Likes to accentuate the romance, candle lit dinners and a kiss outside the flat, the promise of a call tomorrow- following through. He likes waiting until the fourth date, having a girl pull him close by his jacket to kiss him, whisper soft and low in his ear that she wants him. He likes to unbutton her blouse, unzip her skirt and lay her out on a bed, learn her body, trace fingers over her stomach, find the wetness between her legs. Likes to see her wiggle, moan, sometimes beg. He likes the buildup that gets him there, likes every bit of it, and women love him for it.

He doesn’t expect it though, not with Sherlock. Sherlock always seemed so confident, larger than life, that John just assumed all of Irene’s and Mycroft’s insinuations of inexperience were just that- insinuations. 

They weren’t. When John presses Sherlock into the couch, the taste of soy sauce and fried rice slicking their mouths, because he’s sick and tired of the flirting and uncomfortable arousal that has no real release, Sherlock gives what from anyone else would be described as a whimper. It’s so soft and helpless, that John draws back, a thousand scenarios running through his head of how he misinterpreted everything and is about to stammer an apology and offer to make tea, but Sherlock stops him with a desperate hand on his wrist. He pulls John back to his mouth, lips soft and pliant and hands clutching to John’s shoulders. 

They get about as far as Sherlock’s bedroom, John pulling his shirt over his head when Sherlock’s knees give out and he sits unceremoniously on the bed.   
“Sorry,” He breathes, and extends a hand to pull John to him, but his fingers tremble and John pauses. All of Sherlock is trembling, and his eyes are so unusually unsure and lost that John takes a step back. “No!” Sherlock begs, “John, no. Come back.”

So John does, but instead of pushing Sherlock back on the bed and settling his weight over him, he gently kneels on the floor in front of Sherlock. “You’re wonderful,” he says.

Sherlock huffs and rolls his eyes. “Honestly, John, I don’t need to be coddled like-“ But John interrupts him by tugging his face down and kissing him. Sure enough, Sherlock shivers. John smiles and pulls back.

“I have an idea,” he says gently, “would you lie back on the bed?” Sherlock nods and does as he’s told. John arranges them so they lie face to face, heads propped on pillows, fingers intertwined between them. John strokes his thumb along Sherlock’s knuckle and smiles at him. “You’re first time?”

Sherlock looks both disdainful and uncomfortable. “I’ve read about the concepts. I know what’s involved, what goes where, it’s all quiet simple.”

“Bit different actually doing it though,” John says gently and after a small hesitation, Sherlock nods. “My first time too. With a man, I mean.” John brings their latched fingers to his lips and kisses the back of Sherlock’s hand. “I’m nervous as hell,” he laughs. 

Sherlock smiles at that, and shifts closer to kiss him. “At least you haven’t become completely useless.”

“We can go slow. Or we can just, I dunno, do whatever you feel comfortable with tonight. What do you want, Sherlock?” 

Sherlock wets his lips. “You,” he says, clearly fighting the urge to look away. “And this.”

“But this can be anything,” John untangles his fingers so he can push Sherlock’s curls off his forehead; trace the delicate bones of his face. “We can just do this tonight, be close and sleep. Or we could do more.”

There’s a flicker of something wicked in Sherlock’s eyes. “Enlighten me, John. What else could we do?”

John smiles, and drags his hand lower, following the column of Sherlock’s neck. “We could kiss- that’s always nice. Many people don’t appreciate a good snog. Or we could undress each other a bit. I could wrap my hand around you, learn what you like.” He runs his hand lower, into the V of the collar of Sherlock’s shirt. Sherlock inhales sharply, trembling a bit, but he nods to encourage John to go on. 

“Or perhaps I could use my mouth. Have you ever had a blow job, Sherlock?” John begins to run his hand lightly along Sherlock’s side, barely touching the hard lines of ribs. He rests his hand on Sherlock’s hip as Sherlock shakes his head.

“No, never had one. Been offered, though.” He inhales through his nose and the trembling calms somewhat. “I’m so hard,” he whispers, and John’s not sure if he was supposed to hear that or not.

“Let me help,” he says gently. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” he murmurs, but as John goes to unbuckle his belt, the trembling starts up again. “I’m sorry,” Sherlock mumbles under his breath, “ignore it.”  
But John doesn’t ignore it. “Can I try something?” he asks, and when Sherlock nods, he gently rolls on top of him. He aligns their hips and then thrusts down. Sherlock gasps and jerks under him. “Good?” John asks, resisting the urge to thrust down again until he has his friend’s approval.

“Stop talking and do that again,” Sherlock growls, and John groans in relief and thrusts down again, feeling the hard, hot press of Sherlock’s answering erection against his own through their trousers. 

It’s a little awkward, their clothing and Sherlock’s prevailing trembling and fumbling hands keep them finding the perfect rhythm, but Sherlock is just so   
perfect under him, inexplicably noises escaping his mouth, head thrown back as sensations rock through him that John finds himself more turned on than he’s been in a while. He nibbles along Sherlock’s neck, and strains to find his mouth, their teeth clicking as John continues to rock down, faster and harder, because it’s so good, Jesus Christ it’s amazing, and when Sherlock arches and tosses his head back, nearly knocking John out in the process, as he climaxes, John’s right behind him, pushing down once more and then biting Sherlock’s shoulder as his orgasm rips through him. 

“Jesus,” John murmurs and rolls off of Sherlock. “You alright?” 

Sherlock nods. “I need a cigarette,” he says faintly and John laughs. When he reaches out to push Sherlock’s sweaty curls from his face, he finds that the tremors are gone. Sherlock shifts his head to look at him and smiles lazily. “That was… better than expected.”

“I’m glad,” John laughs, “maybe next time I’ll be able to get your pants off.” He kisses Sherlock and feels the quirk of those thin lips against his own.


End file.
